


And if I Know You at All, I Know You've Gone Too Far

by SabbyStarlight



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: But I Plan to Change That, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Romance, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, No Better to be Safe Than Sorry, Underworld, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: She had prepared herself to lose Eliot, she really had.  It might have killed her too, having to say goodbye to him, but she had gone into this battle knowing that it was a possibility.Losing Quentin?  That wasn't even an option.  Quentin was always supposed to be okay.  This was never how his story was supposed to end.





	1. I Lit a Fire With the Love You Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> The only way out is through, right? Well, join me in my wallowing and misery as I fill in the time between Q's suicide (and I don't care what the showrunners call it, being brave and self-sacrificing doesn't change the fact that it was a suicide, but that's a discussion for another day) and the memorial. I do have plans on continuing this all the way through and then on past what we saw, fixing what the show itself couldn't. There will be a happy ending because it’s what Quentin and Eliot and all of us deserve, but these first few chapters are gonna be dark. But this show, that ep, in particular, is dark. If they are going to throw this tragedy in our faces for nothing other than shock value, we owe it to all the Quentin Coldwaters in the world to at the very least handle it properly, which is something I have lost all faith in this show ever doing.

_**I lit a fire with the love you left behind** _

_**And it burned wild and crept up the moutainside** _

 

Margo isn’t sure if she’s ever going to be able to look at Penny’s face again. Either of them, 23 or 40. Because now when she looks at him all she sees is him walking into Eliot’s hospital room. All she sees is him telling her that they failed. Sure they got Eliot back, and Julia too not that she had really cared, but they lost in a way that somehow felt worse. She had prepared herself to lose Eliot, she really had. It might have killed her too, having to say goodbye to him, but she had gone into this battle knowing that it was a possibility. Losing Quentin? That was never an option. Quentin was always supposed to be okay. This was never how his story was supposed to end.

“That's a sick fucking joke.” She had hissed, tightening her grip on Eliot's too still hand and thanking whatever gods were still around to listen that he wasn't awake to hear the words that had just come out of Penny's mouth.

“Look, I'm sorry, okay?” He sighed, wiping a hand down his face, but it did nothing to mask the exhaustion there. “I know I don't really know you, or whatever, and I'm not the best person to tell you this but I'm what you've got. He's gone, Margo.”

She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat, quickly rebuilding her armor, and closed her eyes to keep the tears in. She had thought she was done having to be strong. “What happened.”

“Everett showed up before he finished throwing the bottles into the seam,” he began. “Broke the mirror. Quentin fixed it so he could finish the job.”

“That stupid…” Margo growled. “Did he not think about the rule that says you can't cast in that realm or it'll fucking kill you and everyone else in the room? I swear, for someone so goddamn smart he…”

“Yeah,” Penny interrupted her rant. “That's the thing… He knew. He knew how that would end for him. He did it anyway.”

“Bullshit.” Her eyes snapped back open in anger. “He wouldn't. Not now. Not when we were that close to a win.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but, you missed a lot,” Penny said gently, taking a step closer to her instead of hovering in the doorframe. “I know you were fighting the same fight, but you were in Fillory for most of it. That thing… It broke him, Margo. Mentally. And I don't know much about Q in this timeline, but mine? Mental stability wasn't exactly his strong suit. I think he decided that it wouldn't matter what happened to him as long as that fucking monster was gone. Hell, I don't know. Maybe it was his plan all along.”

“No!” Margo shook her head vehemently. “No, he had too much to keep fighting for. The only thing you're right about is that you didn't know shit about him.”

“He hesitated, Margo.” He said, and the weariness in his voice was proof enough that while he didn't know Q as well as the rest of their group, he did care about him. “Before he threw it, like he was waiting. And then he didn't even try to run from of the blast.”

She swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “He panicked,” She whispered. It was a lame excuse and she knew it but she had to prove Penny wrong.

He just shook his head and scuffed the toe of his boot across the shiny hospital linoleum. “He had enough time and peace of mind to make sure I could get myself and Alice out first.”

And that was what finally broke her.

The thought of Q, her sweet, beautiful, moderately socially maladjusted, Q, winning the battle for all of them by losing the one he had been struggling with his whole life.

“Fuck. You.” She whispered through the tears she was finally allowing to stream down her face.

For the first time, it truly made sense to Penny that this Margo was a king. His timeline's couldn't have handled it, no, that pretty, sarcastic, party girl he had immediately written off as a sorority princess, but this one? She was a warrior. He was snapped out of his revelation when her full-fledged warrior rage was focused solely on him.

“Fuck you!” The same words, this time screamed and he took a step backward, raising his hands in surrender. “Do you know what I have to do now? I have to sit here and wait on Eliot to wake up, knowing that when he does, I'll get to be the one to tell him.” Her words broke off into a harsh cry.

“That's why I told you now,” he explained softly. “Cause, I don't know what exactly went on between the two of them? But it was something big. Quentin loved him. Like, love, loved him. When that, that creepy man-child wasn't paying attention? Margo, Q looked at him the way MY Quentin only looked at Alice Quinn.”

Margo's eyes were focused in his general direction but she was staring right through him as she dabbed at the mascara streaking down her face. Suddenly her head snapped up and her eyes, though red-rimmed, were alight as if she had just completed her own personal quest. “Peaches and plums.” She whispered, the words spoken reverently, almost as if they were a prayer.

“Yeah… I don't know what that means?” Penny drawled as he backed closer to the door. “But, I don't I know, I just thought it should be you he hears it from.” He said, nodding towards Eliot's still sleeping form. “I really am sorry, Margo.” he said softly as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

And with the heavy click of the door latching shut, she collapsed into sobs. Laying her head on Eliot's chest, mindful of the drain tubes and stitches and IV lines, she cried into the hideous hospital gown they had changed him into after surgery. He would have hated waking up in that before, she thought morosely. He won't even care now. She wasn't sure he would ever care about anything again.


	2. Chapter 2

**_I followed your ashes into outer space_ **

It takes an entire day, after Penny dropped the bombshell about Quentin, for Eliot to wake up. A full day for Margo to pull herself together. To compartmentalize her issues and make herself strong. Because she has to be strong. For him.

She checks in to see if Julia’s okay. She’s not. Alice isn’t either. And alone with nothing but her sleeping best friend and her thoughts, Margo begins to wonder if any of them, aside from her and Eliot of course because they had been a package deal from day one, would have ever met, let alone become _friends_ without Quentin.

She couldn’t help thinking that it should have been both of them, her and Q, sitting there beside Eliot, when he woke up.

She was so caught up in her musings, or maybe she had just reached that level of both physical and emotional exhaustion, that she entirely missed the moment Eliot opened his eyes. She had spent so long wanting to hear his voice, truly his, not the monster’s or the lizard’s warped renditions, that the way she jumped upon hearing it was almost comical.

“You know what, bitch?” He had asked, smiling up at her through sleepy eyes. “I wholeheartedly agree. That outfit was so awful the only way to fix it was to attack with an ax. Next time maybe aim for only the graphic tee’s though, okay? Leave my spleen out of the equation?”

She wasn’t sure if the sound that escaped her lips was a laugh or a sob. Possibly some strangled combination of the two, but she threw her arms around Eliot’s neck and never wanted to let go.

That changed quickly though when he immediately tensed and hissed in pain. “Ahh, um, Bambi? Ouch? Still recovering from an ax wound here.”

“Shit, sorry,” She sat up quickly, wiping the tears from her face, thankful that she hadn’t bothered to reapply her makeup even though Josh had brought her cosmetic’s bag to the hospital along with a change of clothes and lunch for her earlier that day. “I’m sorry.”

“ ‘s okay,” He slurred, reaching out for her hand. “It’s really over?”

She swallowed, hesitating. This was the part she had been dreading. She had finally gotten her Eliot back and now she was going to lose him again, only this time she would be losing him to himself and somehow, that felt even worse. “The monster and his sister are gone." She began. “Julia’s safe and the doctors here are saying you should be good to go home in a few days,” she said, deciding to start with the good news. She regretted that decision when she saw his relieved smile. “But, um, sweetie, that’s where the positives end.”

As if he didn’t hear her, Eliot looked around the room, head lolling slowly across his pillow, noticing for the first time that the rest of their group of questers weren’t there. “You said Julia’s okay, right?” He asked, turning back to Margo with a frown.

“Yeah, she’s fine. But, El,” She tried again.

“Then go tell her to stop hogging Q,” His eyes lit up at the mere thought of the younger man. “Sharing is caring. And it’s my turn. I have something to tell him.”

“He’s not here, Eliot.” She whispered, begging him to catch on.

“Well, if he’s not with Julia and he’s not here with me then where the hell is he?” Eliot laughed. “He doesn’t have that big a social circle, Bambi. I haven’t been gone that long.”

“Honey, he’s gone.”

Something in her voice finally made the words click and she saw the exact moment he understood.

“But I love him.” He argued simply, as if that was all he needed to bring Quentin back. “I know that now. And I have to tell him. I promised I would be brave…” He trailed off, visibly sobering up, surgical drugs wearing off instantly, as Margo’s words finally hit him and took in the tears on her face. He looked down at his free hand, lying empty on the pale hospital sheets. The hand that Quentin should be there holding onto.

He dissolved into tears. “But I promised,” He sobbed into Margo’s soft curls when she carefully wrapped her arms back around him.

 

 ** _I can’t look out the window_**  
_**I can’t look at this place**_

When Eliot is finally released from the hospital, nearly a week past his original discharge date because he had been too distraught to eat or attempt any of the physical therapy they required before allowing him to leave, Margo brings him back to the apartment. It isn’t home, but at least he doesn’t have any memories made with Q among those walls to haunt him here.

He’s healing, slowly, though walking any distance at all leaves him gasping for his breath and the act of sitting down and standing back up sometimes leaves him near tears.

He remembers Margo telling him about her axes. Relaying her desert quest yet again, this time hoping to offer him some distraction. Sorrow, he remembers, is their names. An ironic, poetically appropriate name, he thinks bitterly. The pain of the wound whichever one of them, Sorrow or Sorrow (because no matter how proud Margo had been of the damn things, even she couldn’t tell them apart) had left in him was nothing compared to the one losing Quentin had left. That one, he knew, would never heal. Maybe he didn’t deserve it too.

He sighed, as he carefully lowered himself onto the awkwardly low grey sofa in the living room and propped his cane up beside him, looking around the apartment. No, it definitely wasn’t home. Come to think of it though, he had spent what felt like an eternity trapped inside a perfect replica of the Physical Kid’s Cottage and while it had been nice, it didn’t exactly feel like home either. He hadn’t truly felt at home there, if he was being honest with himself, since coming back from the mosaic quest with Q. Since the day he had broken the younger man’s heart, and his own, over a year later, in the process.

Maybe his home wasn’t a place. Wasn’t four walls and a roof overhead anymore. Maybe home, Eliot thought, was being wrapped up in Quentin’s arms. Maybe he was homesick for a heart he was too late to unbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that I was scared to write. I teared up writing it, so I’m sorry. I promise it’s going to get better from here. This was the low point. Hope you enjoyed it even if it made you sad. Maybe? Don’t hate me too much.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I can’t look at the stars** _

_**They make me wonder where you are** _

_**Stars, up on heaven’s Boulevard** _

 

Margo and Eliot crossed through the portal, stepping out into the quiet softness of the cottage’s front lawn. He had healed enough that he no longer needed to lean against her to walk, but she knew he felt more stable having her close, with her hand tucked lightly into the crook of his elbow, ready to steady him if he lost his balance. She gently squeezed his arm in a way she hoped was slightly comforting. At the very least it reminded him that she was there, something he seemed to be forgetting more and more lately, as he disappeared further into his own mind for hours at a time. “You ready?” She asked quietly.

He shook his head, fingers gripping tighter around his cane. “No,” but he leaned down, carefully, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head and for a moment, standing there on the PK Cottage’s lawn in the warm, early spring air, she could almost imagine that nothing had changed. Almost. “But I have to be sometime, right? Might as well get it over with.”

Eliot’s eyes closed as Margo opened the door and the pain of memories wafted through him, carried on the winds of the scent of a house he used to love. He stepped over the threshold awkwardly, still not used to walking with his newly acquired cane, not used to having to use his arm to make his legs work right, and pried his eyes open with a sigh.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, the course of the past few months, while awful and tragic and life-altering for their little group, had left the rest of the world apparently unphased.

“Look like you remember it?” Margo asked, unbuttoning her coat, fighting to keep her voice light.

El nodded. “Exactly. Quiet though, isn’t it?”

“Finals,” Margo answered with a shrug. She knew Eliot had no intention of staying in the cottage for long, though she personally thought it would be good for him. He didn’t need to know that she had personally threatened every single resident of the house to make themselves scarce, quiet, and to not, under any circumstances, speak to Eliot while he was there. “You sure you don’t want to come with me? It’s just a grocery run, shouldn’t take long at all. We could catch a late lunch, if you’re feeling up to it?”

He glanced down at the pajamas he was wearing beneath a black peacoat. They were nice pajamas, a matching set made of dark blue satin, but pajamas all the same. “I’m good.”

“You’ve got an entire closet waiting for you up there...,” She tempted in a sing-song voice, trying, though she knew it would be in vain. He had been living strictly in lounge clothes since getting out of the hospital.

“Pass.” He decided, with a sad smile, reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear. If she leaned into the touch of his hand, relishing in the small moment of comfort, of love, of _Eliot_ , just for a second, who could blame her?

“Fine.” She gave in with a sigh and a dramatic, obviously fake, pout, wrapping his hand in her own and pressing a kiss to his palm before releasing it. They had always been overly affectionate with each other, to the point that it had been known to leave people confused about their friendship, but now she made sure to put forth the extra effort. He needed it now more than ever, though he didn’t have the strength to reciprocate. “Where do you wanna chill at till I get back?”

“Um,” He started, eyes scanning the entirety of the first floor.  The open, charmingly vintage, comforting rooms he knew so well. Now all he saw were memories and empty seats where Quentin should be.

“You’re rooms still there,” Margo reminded him brightly, thinking that maybe some familiarity that was entirely his would help. She realized her mistake when his eyes tightened in a near wince and she was hit by the sudden onslaught of hazy memories of her own. Memories of Quentin’s hands and lips, working their way almost reverently across her skin. Of his hair forming a curtain, shielding their faces from the rest of the world as he rolled her beneath him, surprisingly skilled and confident. Of Eliot’s hand grasping at her own later, when Quentin had shifted his attention to the other man, while she leaned against the headboard, sated and impressed and content to watch, thinking that Eliot really was right about this particular first-year. His new flavor of the month, she had teased. Coming down from her emotion-bottle high, she remembers thinking that this one really was a keeper.

“Or mine,” She quickly backtracked, giving him a safer, less Quentin-tinted, option.

“I’m fine here.” He said, shaking his head as if he were escaping from his own reverie of memories from that night. “Stairs and I aren’t exactly close friends right now, anyway.”

“Okay.” She agreed hesitantly, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“I’ll be fine.” He assured, tightening his grip on her hand in a quick pulse before letting go to make his way, slowly, cane clicking against the hardwood floor, towards the nearest couch.

“I’ll be back soon, alright?” She reminded as she opened the cottage door. “You call my cell if you need anything. Anything at all. I don’t care what it is.”

“Wait, Bambi?” He asked, voice rising in a slight panic and she was back in his line of sight before he could blink. “Don’t forget it, alright?”

“Never.” She assured, patting her coat pocket confidently. “First thing on my list.”

As soon as he was sure she was gone, Eliot stood up, not bothering to bite back the pained groan that escaped his lips since he was alone, and slowly walked over to the bar. He picked up a bottle of bourbon, ignoring the rows of sparkling crystal glasses, and retreated back to the couch, bottle in hand.

He didn’t plan to get drunk, he didn’t deserve the escape that would bring, but a drink or five couldn’t hurt, so he sat there, using the contents of the bottle to numb himself as he let his thoughts drift to Quentin.

Of the first day they met, Eliot bored and lounging around the Brakebills sign as he waited to lead the poor confused potential student to the exam room, Quentin charmingly awkward with his questions and crooked tie. He hadn’t known that he loved him then. It wasn’t the fairy tale, cheesy song, knew-it-at-first-sight, kind of love for either of them. He doesn’t even remember falling in love with Quentin. All he knows is he kneeled there on the sharp rocky beach of Coronation Island, looking up at the man smiling down at him with nothing but unwavering faith and excitement and blissful joy in his eyes and Eliot remembers thinking that he doesn’t ever want to wake up to a world where Quentin wasn’t there to look at him like that. Maybe that was the moment.

 _A brother of the heart, with the floppy hair_ , the Great Cock had called him. _Two halves of one whole._ Clearly he had known, Eliot scoffed. He knew even then, what Eliot was too afraid to admit to himself.

And then they had spent those fifty beautiful years in that little house beside the mosaic. With Ari, though their time with her was far too short, and Teddy, and later their grandchildren. No matter who came and went in that life though, they always had each other. Really, they _only_ had each other. They hadn’t been easy years, but it was the happiest Eliot had ever been.

He spent a while, locked away in his mind palace, wondering why he had chosen that particular cottage to hide out in rather than the one Quentin and he had built a life around. The only answer he had managed to come up with was that his subconscious had known that if he was given the chance to go back to that life, the one where he didn’t foolishly throw away the best thing ever given to him, he would never have attempted to break free. He wouldn’t have bothered to let his friends know that he was still alive, trapped in his own mind, because he would have been perfectly content staying there, with Q and Teddy and mosaic-chalk stained fingers sharing bites of the sweetest fruits, until the Monster had killed his body and it was over.

He wouldn’t have even had that last moment, there in the park. That last look into Quentin’s big brown eyes. “Peaches and plums, motherfucker.” He whispers to the empty room, raising the bottle up in a toast to his pitiful existence before downing another burning swallow. “I’m alive out here. Only now you’re not.”

He spends a few moments wallowing, wiping away a few stray tears and idly thinking that he should probably put the now half-empty bottle back in its place before Margo returned. But then it hits him, like a shot of pure adrenaline to the heart (and he can truly say he knows exactly how that feels thanks to Martin Chatwin and his accursed thrones and Penny’s plan to kill and then revive them). This, moping around the couch and drinking and punishing himself, is the exact opposite of what Quentin would want him to do.

Quentin died, slowly wearing himself down until he reached the point where he didn’t care about himself anymore. Only for Eliot. He did it all for Eliot. And this was how he was being repaid? The depressed, grief-stricken, man that he had become, the one without the strength to even get dressed, was far from being worth Quentin killing himself over. And that had to change. He grabbed the liquor bottle by the neck and threw it against the nearest wall, watching it explode in a shatter of amber and crystal.

He was waiting for Margo, when she returned, with a newfound steely determination having replaced a tiny fraction of the devastation in his eyes.

“El?” she called, as she kicked the door closed behind her.

“You remembered?” He asked.

“One peach.” She assured, nodding towards the grocery bags in her arms. “Did you seriously think I would forget?”

“No,” He smiled, the first real smile she had seen from him since he had learned about Quentin’s death. “Not for a second.”

“Hey, you.” She smiled back, carefully setting the bags down and wrapping him in a gentle hug. “I’m choosing to ignore the stench of booze because you look a little better.”

He waved to the stain of alcohol splashed down the wall, staining the wallpaper and pooling around the shards of glass littered across the floor. “A little ‘Welcome Back, Eliot’ gift from me to Todd.”

Margo laughed. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Oh, I don’t really care if he does or not. We have more important things to worry about than cleaning that up.”

“Like what?” Margo asked, curious. He seemed okay, more than okay really, more like himself, but she didn’t want to risk getting her hopes up.

“Like you helping me up those damned stairs to pick out a decent funeral outfit,” Eliot answered, rolling his eyes as if it had been obvious. “Because as much as I’m going to hate it, and I will hate it, Margo, every fucking second of it, he would be there if it were for me.”

Quentin had done the impossible. He had moved heaven and earth and accomplished what even the gods themselves couldn’t do. All to bring Eliot back. Now it was El’s turn to repay the favor.

After all, he had promised to be braver this time. And he’d learned from the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want to write this story, to begin with, but honestly? This has been really cathartic for me. And we aren’t even to the good parts yet. Thanks to everyone who has read this so far, your comments keep me going.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter that I intend to use anything actually seen in the finale. That fire scene was beautiful. Seriously, it was so good (in the most devastatingly heartbreaking way possible) and I would have adored it had the episode not ended with the announcement that Jason really was leaving and that was the end. So I’m rewriting it to make this story go where I need it to while hopefully managing to keep the essence of what was one of the few moments that episode did well.

**_And if I know you at all_ **   
**_I know you’ve gone too far_ **   
**_So I can’t look at the stars_ **

Quentin stands beside Penny, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, staring at the circle of his friends gathered around the small bonfire. It must be cold, he muses to himself because they are all bundled into jackets in the spring evening, but he isn’t the slightest bit chilled. A small perk of being dead, he supposes. He looks at them, noticing the empty spaces where Margo and Eliot should have been. “He’s okay, right?” He asks, panicked eyes looking up at Penny. “El?”

“He will be,” Penny assures, and his voice almost sounds like a promise. Like he knows something Quentin doesn’t.

He takes a hesitant step forward when Alice starts talking, throwing the Brakebills South mug into the fire, the tears in her eyes brightened by the flames reflected in the lenses of her glasses.

“Huh-uh, Dude.” Penny stops him with a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder and pulls him back into the shadows. “You can’t change it. She can’t hear you, can’t see you. Won’t know we’re here. Just watch.”

So he nods, watching silently, tucked away into the shadows of the forest along the edge campus. Kady casts the spell, the same one he remembers casting what felt like a lifetime ago when the key quest sent them into an impromptu Bowie singalong, and her voice joins Alice’s as she tosses a book into the flames. The Secret Sea, he notices with a small proud smile, the one Plover had ruined when he scrawled his name across the title page.

Julia joins in then too, grasping Kady’s hand like a lifeline, and his regret spikes up a notch because she had spent years, her entire life, practically, trying her best to keep this, exactly this, from being his fate. This had been her biggest fear and he had failed her. And now she had to live with that while he moved on to… wherever.

Penny 23 and Dean Fogg joined in on the harmony next, the older man stepping forward and tossing his Brakebills acceptance letter into the fire. Quentin remembers that day, sitting in his office, signing that contract though he didn’t fully understand anything that he was agreeing to. He remembers taking the little orange bottle out of his pocket and handing them over to the Dean. _Out there, everyone medicates. Here? We hope you won’t need to._ Quentin sincerely hopes he’s learned his lesson on that one.

He’s momentarily distracted when Penny tossed an egg from their dragon adventure with Poppy into the flames. Had that really only happened a few weeks ago? He’s shocked out of the thoughts of the godchild he would never get to meet when new voices join the melody.

Tears fill his eyes and his heart aches and begins beating to a new rhythm. _Eliot Eliot Eliot_ , it pounds and he finds himself wanting nothing more than to run into the older man’s arms, though he didn’t look all to steady on his feet so that probably wasn’t the best idea. He was clearly hurting, leaning heavily on Margo as they made their way slowly to join the rest of the group, and there was a heavy sadness in his eyes that Quentin had the immediate instinct to try to kiss away. But those instincts were from another life, so he shoved them down and shifted his focus to Margo, just in time to watch her toss his crown into the flames.

That one hurt, he wasn’t going to lie. He and Fillory had their issues, that wasn’t breaking news. It had been nothing like he and Julia had imagined, all those years ago, scrawling out maps beneath her dining room table, but it had been a literal childhood dream come true. Darker than he had hoped or not, a part of him would always love it. He had to. It had given him an entire lifetime with the man he loved. A son, grandkids. Fifty years, just he and Eliot. He could never hate Fillory, not truly, because of that.

“I didn’t even get to be a King,” Quentin says softly, voice breaking. “I hardly wore it, I- I thought that was all I wanted but I didn’t get the chance…”

“Oh, shit.” Penny’s voice cuts him off, but when Q turns his head up to meet the other man’s eyes he’s smiling a knowing smile. Relieved, almost. A huge departure from his ominous words.

“What…” He begins to ask, but then he sees that Penny isn’t smiling at him or the bonfire, he’s smiling directly at Margo. And Margo is staring right back.

Penny nods at her, encouraging, even as he begins to speak, slowly, dragging out his words. “I bet the guys upstairs forgot about her fairy eye when they approved this.” He explained, and though it sounded as if he were speaking to Quentin it was quite obvious the words were meant for Margo. “I mean, it's not like it’s my fault they forgot that she could see us astral projecting. Here. From the Underworld. The both of us.”

“She can see us?” Quentin asks quickly, turning back to Margo.

She literally looks as if she had just seen a ghost as she nods, a tiny movement, barely discernable as if she doesn’t want to allow herself to have hope, but she shifts her focus to look at him.

The song fades away, magic breaking off as she softly grates out “Q?” in a broken whisper.

“Hi,” he calls softly as he waves at her awkwardly, not quite sure what else to say.

“Quentin!” She shrieks, pushing her way around the firepit until she was standing right in front of him. She stops herself, realizing just in time, how badly collapsing into him would end for her.

He smiles through his tears, holding his hand up again and watches as she mirrors him, hovering her palm a hairsbreadth away from his.

“Margo?” Kady’s voice calls from the fire. Quentin shifts to look over Margo’s shoulder to find everyone staring at her as if she had suddenly gone insane. “What the fuck?”

“He’s here.” She explains, never taking her eyes away from Quentin’s face, staring at him in wonder. “He’s standing right here.”

Eliot’s eyes shift their way, gaze slipping right past Quentin, and focusing on the back of Margo’s head. He reaches out to take Alice’s hand when her hoarse voice asks if Margo had finally lost her mind.

“No,” Julia breathes, standing up, and Quentin smiles because of course she understood. “Fairy eye. She can see onto the astral plane. Penny?” She asks almost desperately and within seconds P23 had dropped to sitting on the ground. And then he too, or at least a projection of him, is staring at Quentin.

“You see him too, right?” Margo asks, breathlessly. “I’m really not crazy?”

“No… You’re definitely not crazy.” He agreed, but he was focusing on Penny 40 instead of Quentin. “You sly motherfucker,” he grinned, crossing his arms. “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

“I can assure you, I have no idea what you’re implying.” Penny smiled back with a wink. “I was just doing my job, helping Q here process his death and move on. If you all seeing him, I don’t know, maybe sparks some kind of motivation to get him back? Well, that certainly was not my intention.”

Quentin beamed up at him in thanks. “Can you tell them?” He asks, eyes darting between 23 and Margo. “That I really am here? I-I don’t think they believe you.”

“He’s there, y’all.” Penny announced, slipping back into his body. “Trust her.”

“Bambi?” Eliot’s voice called out, hesitantly, and of course, that was the one pull strong enough to get her to cast her eyes away from Quentin.

“He’s here.” She assured, wiping away tears. “I promise you, El, he’s right fucking here.”

“He can hear me?” Eliot asked, swallowing hard.

“Every word,” Quentin answers in a whisper, though he knows there really isn’t a point. P23 blips back to the astral plane, standing beside him this time.

“I really don’t want to rush this,” His Penny said softly in a conspiratorial whisper, from his other side. His voice was back to its old self instead of the polished Librarian facade. “I honestly would love nothing more than to stay here all night, trust me.” He admitted sadly as his gaze drifted over to Kady. “But we can’t stay long or the higher-ups will get suspicious and come looking.”

Margo overheard. “El, sweetie? I’m not sure how long this is going to last but…”

Eliot stood up, squaring his shoulders, as he moved slowly to stand beside Margo, reaching out to clasp her hand into his own, trembling fingers. “Q?” He asked softly, and Quentin’s eyes teared up again, from the sheer joy of watching those lips call him Q instead of the Monster’s broken version of his name. He shifted so that Eliot was staring into his eyes, even though he knew the taller man couldn’t see anything other than the dark forest in front of him. “I had a speech planned out,” Eliot began. “A damn good one too, but I can’t seem to remember a single word of it. And apparently, we’re on a time crunch here so,” he paused to take a breath and look at Margo, who nodded encouragingly.

“So, I’m just going to go for it, okay? Great. Here goes. I love you, Quentin Coldwater.  But you’ve known that. That’s no secret. What you might not know, what I myself didn’t know, until recently, is that I am _in_ love with you. In. Actively, currently, hopelessly, entirely, forever, _in love with you._ ” He paused, letting go of Margo’s hand to reach into his pocket. A sob escaped Quentin when he saw the peach held there between Eliot’s familiar fingers. “Peaches and plums, right?” He asked and Quentin nodded. “You didn't give up on me, when I turned you down, no, you kept right on loving me. Though you were far too gentlemanly to bring it up. And you didn’t give up on me when our whole world was turned upside down. You never lost faith that you could get me back. You never stopped trying. And I’m not selfish enough to expect you to still be in love with me too, but you fought for me expecting nothing in return. And I completely intend to do the same.”

He paused, turning his head skyward and then closing his eyes as if the endless night sky above was too painful to look at. “I will never be able to fully express, Q, just how sorry I am that you found yourself in a place where you felt that this was the only way out. That you were there, spiraling, and I wasn’t around to pull you back up. And I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to keep fighting, alright? For me? Just a little while longer. Don’t give up on me quite yet, Q. Because I’m going to get you back, okay?”

Quentin nodded, wanting more than anything to be able to reach out and wipe away the tears coursing their way down Eliot’s cheeks. He turned to Margo. “Promise you’ll tell him, okay? That I never stopped loving him? Not for one second?”

She nodded back. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” He sighed, wiping away his own tears with the back of his hand as he looked across the tiny clearing at all his friends. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” She insisted, shaking her head with a sad smile. “We should have seen it, that you were struggling. We’re the ones at fault here, Q. And we’re gonna figure out a way to undo this.”

“We’ll take care of shit on this side.” Penny 23 added, nodding. “You just don’t do anything down there to draw attention to yourself before we can make this right.”

Penny 40 shifted at his side, raising his wrist to check his watch. “Damn it.” He muttered under his breath before turning to Quentin. “We gotta bounce, bro.” He put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder and began leading him back into the forest.

Quentin sighed. “Take care of them, alright?” He asked Margo. “Not just El, but all of them. Yourself included.”

“We’ll take care of each other.” She corrected, recapturing Eliot’s hand. “All of us in this little fucked up family.” And with a final smile, she turned away help Eliot back to his seat beside the fire.

“Hey, um,” Penny turned to address P23. “Do me a favor, man? Talk to Kady for me? She was never meant to be just my girlfriend. She’s so much more and you tell her I said so. Tell her I better not see her for a damn long time.”

He nodded before traveling back to his body. “I’ll tell her.”

“Okay. We really do have to go, Q.” He said apologetically.

“One last look,” Quentin stalled in a broken whisper, scanning over their entire group. Kady and Julia and Penny and Alice. Margo was right, they really were a family. He waited to look at Eliot last, watching him roll the peach between his palms, cheek resting against the top of Margo’s head, holding that image in his mind as he turned and walked away.

“Are they gonna be okay?” he asked Penny quietly, as they made their way into the darkness.

“Officially? I don’t know.” He answered. “You died. Their books, the only futures I have access to, are in regards to that so I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen if you… don’t. But if I had to make a guess? With that bunch? They always find a way, man.”

Quentin nodded. It wasn’t exactly the answer he had been hoping for, but it was honest and he appreciated that. “What now?”

“Now?” Penny laughed. “Well, now we go back to my office and you decide if you want to move on or not.”

“I don’t.” He answered automatically. “Not now, not with what I have waiting for me back there.”

“Okay then.” Penny shrugged. “So I do NOT give you a MetroCard, and we tell my supervisors that you’re not ready to make a decision yet. That you still need to think it over. They’re pretty chill about accepting that. Especially with, uh, intentional deaths. And then, well, you’ve been to the Underworld before, dude. You know what to expect. Take a number, pick a memory or a dream or some shit like that, and go hang out until you decide.”

“Or…?” Quentin hedged, not wanting to come right out and say that he was intending to wait for his friends to pull him back to Earth.

“Yeah.” Penny agreed with a smile, catching on immediately. “Or.”

Quentin smiled, a feeling blossoming in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Perhaps not since that fateful day sitting beneath Margo’s bloodstained wedding arch. A feeling, he remembered, called hope.

He looked up at Penny. “Let’s do it, then. I know exactly where I wanna go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favorite chapter so far (imagine that, right) so I hope y’all like it too!


	5. Chapter 5

_**All those times we looked up at the sky** _  
_**Looking out so far, we felt like we could fly** _

It doesn’t look the way he remembered it.

That’s the first thing that strikes him about the little piece of land when he stumbles out of the thick Fillorian forest. It’s too bright, too colorful. Too perfect.

He’d done what Penny said, taken a number and asked the overly-cheery man at the information desk for a chance to visit a few peaceful memories while he made up his mind. He had almost chosen to go visit their son, but it hadn’t felt right, not when he was technically younger than he had been the day Teddy was born. It had felt so strange, speaking her name back into existence. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually said it. But he managed to grate out “Arielle Coldwater-Waugh, please.” in a hoarse voice, and had found himself back at their little cottage.

There’s a magical ripple that shoots throughout the air when he steps fully into her world, and she must have felt it too because she’s suddenly standing up from where she had been leaned over the little garden plot she and Eliot had created and turns to smile at him.

And with that smile, it suddenly makes perfect sense to Quentin, why the little house seemed neater, the plants fuller, the air sweeter. Because this little pocket world had been built from Ari’s memories of her time at the mosaic, and those years truly had been the brightest.

“Quentin!” She exclaims, knocking over a basket of what appeared to be radishes in her haste to reach him. She flings her arms around his neck and as his arms wrap around her on instinct, she kicks her feet off the ground, allowing him to fully support her in their embrace while her excited laughter warms his chest.

She presses a warm kiss to his lips before loosening her arms and sliding out of his hold, peering around his shoulder to the forest behind him. “You’re alone?” She asks, and the realization causes her smile to dim.

He nods, focusing on the basket of overturned vegetables and blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.

“But you’re so young…” She continues, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair, now significantly shorter than she had ever seen it. He forces himself to meet her eyes and he watches her's softening even more as she understands. “You didn’t lose.” She insists fiercely, wrapping her arms around him again. “You hear me? You fought so hard for so long, just because you didn’t win doesn’t mean the sadness gets to, okay?. All it means is that you ran out of strength. It didn’t win. Don’t let it claim that from you.”

He smiled, tucking her beneath his chin and pulling her close and taking a deep breath of Fillorian air. He had definitely made the right decision, choosing to come here. “I missed you.”

“And I, you,” She replied, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat before leaning back to look at him. “And Eliot. Is he…?”

“Alive,” Quentin assured with a sigh. “It’s a long story but, I lost him. For a long time. He’s back now… but I’m not. ”

“Well there’s your problem,” Ari rolled her eyes as she reached down to take Q’s hand and lead him over to sit on the mosaic’s sand. “If you didn’t have Eliot it’s no wonder you lost your strength.”

Quentin raked a hand across the sand, pondering her words. The top layer was warm to the touch, heated by the late afternoon sun, but the grains beneath were soothing and cool. So many memories, built around that sand and the tiles still sitting in neat little piles at its borders. “You know, you’re probably right.” He agrees

“No probably about it.” She argues good-naturedly, curling up against his side with her head on his shoulder. “I’m always right.”

They spend the day there, on the blank mosaic, sharing memories and wine and laughter, Quentin filling her in on the life with Eliot and Teddy, the life she never got to live out.

She retreats into the cottage at some point as the sun begins setting and returns with a tray of cured meats and cheeses, fire-baked bread and little jars of jam. Peach and plum, of course. “I would have helped,” Quentin says, jumping up to take the overflowing tray from her hands

“Yes, because we know how well _that_ would have turned out.” She teases as she sits down and pours two glasses of wine.

“I’ll have you know that I made a half-way decent quesadilla not too long ago.” He responds, flicking a crumb of cheese her way. “I mean, sure I burned my hands trying to carry it out of the kitchen and if I remember right I dropped it before I ever got to eat it but I’m sure it tasted just fine.”

She shook her head in exasperation and smiled at him before her face turned serious. “I’m going to miss you. It’s going to be so much lonelier now, that I’ll know how much better the afterlife was with you in it.”

Quentin stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth in an awkward attempt to stall. “Who says I’m going anywhere?” He asked finally, unable to look her in the eyes.

“Don’t talk down to me, Quentin, I’m fairly certain that I’m older than you now.” She joked, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m not naive enough to think that you’re here forever. Or that Eliot’s going to let you stay dead, for that matter.”

“I don’t know,” Quentin hedged before sighing in defeat and finally breaking down and telling her the entire story, from them getting their memories of this life back all the way through to the memorial bonfire.

“You mean to tell me,” She asked when he was done, turning fully to face him. “That you let him tell you he didn’t really love you, that he wouldn’t choose you, even after the two of you spent fifty years together? After all _this_?”

Quentin nodded.

“And you were stupid enough to believe him?” She exclaimed. “My word, Quentin I thought you were smarter than that!”

“Apparently not.” He laughed, ducking his head as the sun finally completed her quest for the day, sinking beneath the mountains. He waved his hand, an old trick he hadn’t performed in ages, and the lanterns scattered around the lawn lit up instantly, casting a familiar glow.

“So you two never…?” She asked, waving a hand to fill in her words.

“Nope,” Quentin shook his head. “Not since we made it back to Earth.”

“Well, clearly you two are both idiots.” She declared, refilling each of their wine glasses. “But maybe this whole monster mess you were telling me about has knocked some sense into him. I believe you two are soulmates, Quentin. Truly.”

“I do too,” He agreed sadly.

“Well, if that speech he gave at your funeral service, which sounded very sad by the way, is that a typical Earth tradition? Burning the loved one’s most treasured belongings? Anyway, not important, if that speech was half as heartfelt and romantic as you made it seem, I have no doubts at all that he will be coming for you, Quentin. You just have to have faith.”

“I’m trying, Ari.” He sighed. “And I really hope you’re right.”

“I thought we already determined that I’m always right.” She teased inching closer as she smiled up at him and drained the last of the wine from her glass. “And since I’m right and Eliot will be showing up soon to whisk you away to live out your second happily ever after, do you think he would mind too much if I took advantage of your time here and spent the night with you as my husband?”

“Did he ever mind before?” He laughed as he met her halfway for a kiss.

Their little family hadn’t exactly been conventional, Quentin mused later that night, lying on the straw-filled mattress with the scratchy sheets that had been one of the few things he hadn’t missed from this life, but they were lucky enough that Fillorian customs allowed them to be viewed as exactly that, a family. As nice as it was, spending the night losing himself to Arielle’s touch, it was clear that something, or someone rather, was missing. He turned his head slowly, smiling at the way the moonlight caught on the strands of her unraveling braid. She was beautiful and she made him happy, but it wasn’t her he found himself wishing he could wake up beside.

He slowly pulled back the covers, picking up Arielle’s arm gently off his chest and putting his pillow back in its place instead, and slipped out of the bead. He found his jeans on the floor and pulled them on as he began to creep around the cabin. The floorboards still creaked in the same spots as he remembered, so it was easy for him to make his way to the old wardrobe in the corner. His eyes scanned past the row of Ari’s dresses hanging above the neat line of her shoes until he saw what he was looking for, folded up and tucked away on the top shelf.

He pulled the quilt down and let it fall into his arms, taking a moment to bury his face in the fabric hating that it didn’t smell the same, before sneaking out the door into the nighttime, the bundle of cloth mosaic tiles in hand.

He spread it out, exactly where he and El had placed it that night of their first anniversary, or as close to exactly as he could remember, and laid down. He stared up at the sky, at the Fillorian twin moons looking back at him, and the scattering of stars surrounding them. He remembered all the nights he and Eliot had spent there, finding random patterns of stars and claiming them to be constellations of Margo the Destroyer and her friends. That had been something Quentin had taken for granted, those nights spent beneath the stars. They had become few and far between, once Teddy had been born. Now he would give anything to have Eliot there beside him. He closed his eyes and imagined just that.

_**And now I'm all alone in the dark of night** _  
_**The moon is shining but I can't see the light** _

“El?” Margo asked softly, reaching across the grey sectional sofa and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Eliot, wake up.”

His eyes snapped open, breaking free of the dreams that had turned into nightmares. Nightmares of Quentin’s lying broken at his feet, his blood on his hands, and he reached up to his face, fingers trailing over the tears he found there.

“Sorry,” Margo apologized, turning back to the ancient leather-bound book on her lap, pretending not to notice that he was crying. “I know you need your rest and whatever but it didn’t look like that was exactly a good nights sleep.”

“I just miss him, Bambi,” Eliot whispered, reaching out to intertwine his fingers with her’s. “So damn much.”

“I know,” She squeezed his hand in sympathy. “We’re close, sweetie. Just hang in there. Go back to sleep, it’s late.”

He rolled over onto his side, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. He didn’t care, the pain grounded him. He kept a grip on Margo’s hand as he stared around the apartment, at all of their little group of questers, working endlessly to get Quentin back. He closed his eyes.

The nightmares were inevitable. They always came and they didn’t show any signs of slowing down. For a moment though, before they took over, he swore he was back at the mosaic, lying there beside Quentin on their favorite quilt, staring up at the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one’s a little bit late, real life kicked back in this week so I can’t churn out a chapter a day anymore. Anyway, I was really nervous to write Ari because she’s basically an OC but I hope she was at least believable and maybe kinda likable?


	6. Chapter 6

_**I can't look at the stars** _

“Guys, you know I'm all for getting Quentin back. But, seriously, as far as plans go this has to be the shittiest one we've ever come up with.” Katy sighed, letting the book she had been reading drop closed with a slam as she looked around the apartment's kitchen.

“Really.” Eliot turned to her with fire in his eyes that rivaled even the brightest of lamps they had lit to counter the night's darkness. “It's worse than letting that monster run around the entire fucking world in my body killing whomever he pleased until you thought up a way to kill him? A plan which, by the way, ended with Q killing himself? This is a shittier plan than that?”

“Easy, El.” Margo stepped in, placing a placating hand on his shoulder. “It's what we've got, so it's what we're going with. Nobody's saying otherwise. But come on, even you have to admit that its kinda a long shot, honey.”

“I don't care.” He sighed, leaning into Margo.

“Which is why we're doing it,” Julia announced, squeezing his hand across the kitchen counter and smiling an encouraging smile before waiting until he looked away to send Kady a warning glare. “We just have to wait on…”

“Me?” Alice asked, closing the portal she had just entered through and smoothing down her grey plaid Librarian-approved skirt. “I got here as soon as I could.

“Okay. Gang's all here.” Penny said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were getting a headache. “Let's run through this plan one more time with us all in the same place. Make sure we’re on the same page.”

“My magic's back.” Julia began, snapping her fingers and raising a luminescent orb from her palm. “It's not goddess level or anything, but it is magic. So I use that and any pull I might have had with Our Lady Underground,”

“AKA, fuckin’ Persephone.” Margo cut in.

“Right. So with any luck, I can use our combined powers to open a portal to the Underworld. I find Hades,”

“We.” It was Eliot who interrupted this time. “We find Hades.”

“Of course,” Julia agreed because they were long past the arguments of Eliot traveling with her. “Eliot and I find Hades and… I don't know, that's really as far as we can plan. We just, somehow, convince him to give us back Q.”

“Yeah… I'm starting to agree with Kady on this one.” Penny drawled. “That's not much of a plan, Julia.”

“Well, it's all we have.” She reminded him, and he bit his lip to keep more words from spilling out.

“No, not exactly.” Alice stepped in. “With me working with, who am I kidding, practically running, the Library, we have an unlimited supply of ambient magic now. Not to mention friends in both the Satellite Branch and the Underworld division. Combine that with Kady’s newfound hedge witch uprising and Fen and Josh back in Fillory, we're definitely not short on allies. We have fairly powerful backup, should we need it. That has to count for something.”

“I just don't know that it's enough,” Kady tried again.

“Look, this whole _positivity_ thing is new to me,” Margo announced. “But listen up. We don't have to like this plan, we don't have to agree about it or not. Because we all agree on one thing and that thing is Quentin. This is about him, and at the end of the day? That's all that fucking matters. Because he would do it for us. So we're gonna shut up and open the goddamn portal to hell, which, sure, doesn't sound like a very great idea but oh well. Then El and Julia go down there while we sit back and cross our fingers or pray or wish on fucking stars and birthday candles, I don't care, until they come back either with Quentin or a full-blown plan to get him back. Capisce?”

Eliot smiled at her. “Well said, Bambi.”

Everyone else, now fully put in their place by Margo's wrath, nodded in agreement.

“Let's get on with it then.” Julia decided, clapping her hands against her denim-clad thighs and standing up.

In the end, it wasn't nearly as difficult to open the portal as they had expected. A few moments of Latin chants and synchronized finger tutting, combined with Alice's unlimited supply of ambient magic, was all it took before there was a crackling pop and a sudden metallic tang filled the air. A red-tinged shimmering doorway opened up in the middle of the living room.

“Auspicious signs abound.” Eliot huffed under his breath as he gathered his cane into his left hand, remembering Quentin standing beside him as he said those exact words at the beginning of their mosaic quest. He hoped this one worked out as well as that one had.

Margo carefully wrapped him in a hug. “You be careful, you hear me?” She asked. “You don't even want to know how pissed I'll be if I have to go down there myself to save you and him both.”

“Love you too, Bambi.” He whispered in her ear, holding her tight for another precious second, gathering his strength. “Julia?” He finally called, as he broke out of the hug. She smiled as she walked up to him and curled her hand into the bend of his offered elbow. “Let's go get our boy back.”

_**They make me wonder where you are** _

Eliot wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the bland, empty hallway that looked as though it belonged in a skyrise from the business district downtown. There was significantly less fire and brimstone in the underworld, apparently, than he had been threatened with back in those early Sunday morning church services growing up, he noted with a wry smirk. Though the beige walls and commercial grey carpet were severely lacking in any drama. It was almost disappointing.

“You think this is the right place?” He asked, looking around warily.

“I programmed the spell to take us directly to him,” Julia said, though her voice was far from certain. She looked around, turning in a near circle until she paused, raising a hand to point at the far end of the hall. “Eliot.”

He turned, eyes focusing on the one lone door at the end of the corridor. He nodded and squared his shoulders, the two of them making their way towards the door. He rapped the head of his cane against the unmarked but polished wooden door rather than being forced to break Julia’s hold on his arm. The lock clicked with the sound of heavy tumblers turning and the knob twisted on its own as the door was pulled open by an invisible force.

The room inside was, in fact, an office. But what the hallway it was housed in seriously lacked in style, these four walls made up for. Deep crimson wallpaper, covered in an intricate gold pattern that shifted the more Eliot tried to focus on its design. His feet sunk into the carpet beneath them, so deep that the tip of his cane was lost amongst the lush material. There were bookshelves lining the back wall, piled high with neatly arranged rows of black books and file folders, all labeled in glittering gold calligraphy so intricate he knew he didn’t stand a chance of deciphering the lettering. In front of the bookcases, stood a huge carved mahogany desk, polished until the gold in the wallpaper reflected against its surface, with a tall-backed leather chair behind it.

“Um,” Julia began, and the chair slowly began to turn around to face them at the sound of her voice.

“I have several questions,” Came a deep voice from the man in the chair. “But who you are, what you want, and how you found your way here are at the top of the list so I suggest you begin with those.”

Now facing them, Eliot took in the god sitting before him. Broad shoulders covered by a flawlessly tailored suit that would have been overly formal had he not gone without a tie and left the top few buttons of his crisp white dress shirt undone. His hair gathered in curls that grazed the tops of his shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard accented the prominent cheekbones that any model would kill for. His eyes, though, were mesmerizing, intense and swirling with golden smoke. Clearly, Julia had been distracted by him as well, because she had yet to resume speaking.

“This is not off to a promising start.” He warned, voice dropping even lower, into a near growl.

“We apologize, your godliness,” Eliot answered quickly.

Thankfully, Julia found her voice, squeezing his arm to tell him to be quiet. “My name is Julia Wicker and this is my friend Eliot. We are Magicians, and to be upfront, sir, we came here to ask you for a favor.”

“Luckily for you, you’re optimism amuses me.” He declared as he raised a hand and two plush red chairs appeared out of nowhere, sliding up to sit in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”

Julia met Eliot’s eyes, a brief, silent moment of her asking him to let her do the talking before they sat down.

“Humor me,” Hades ordered with a smirk. “What exactly did you come here expecting?”

“Our friend, Quentin Coldwater, is here.” Julia began. “In the Underworld. And we would really appreciate it if you could, change that.”

Hades laughed. A full-out, mirthless, laugh. “What makes you think, humans, that you are in any way important enough to lay your eyes upon me, let alone ask for a favor with nothing in it for myself. Who exactly do you think you are?”

“I am Eliot Waugh, High King of Fillory,” Eliot announced, failing epically at keeping quiet. “And she is a goddess, with or without her powers, so while we aren’t up to your typical standards, we are entirely deserving of your respect.”

“Goddess, huh?” Hades asked, with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

“Goddess.” He repeated, staring at the man unflinchingly. “A particular favorite of your late wife, or so I’m lead to believe. So, if you don’t want to bother listening to us, maybe think about what she would want.”

Hades’s attention shifted to Julia, completely dismissing Eliot without a word. “You’re her, aren’t you?” He asked, voice losing its menace instantly. “Her little tree girl, the one she was so fond of. I thought you felt familiar.”

“I am.” Julia agreed and Eliot felt her straightening beside him, drawing herself up to her full height in the chair. “And I am so very sorry about her death.”

“How did you find out...?” He asked, the compassion draining from his eyes as he put the pieces together. Eliot and Julia shared a worried glance. This was the point that they knew things could end badly. “It was you, you and your little group of misfits, that released the monster that killed her.”

“It was,” Julia admitted with a sigh. “I’m not going to try to lie to you about that.”

“And you have the nerve to not only show your face here but to come into my home asking for a favor?” He asked.

“Which is how you know it’s an important one.” Julia countered, leaning forward and bracing her knees on her elbows. “Quentin Coldwater. We need him back.”

“As I need my Persephone back.” He snarled. “Why should you get him back, an irrelevant human, when I can’t have back the love of my life.”

“Because Quentin is just that to me,” Eliot cut back in, voice gentler this time, laced with a shared hurt and understanding. “If you’re not going to do this for Julia, then do it because I love him. And he died without ever getting to hear me say those words.”

Hades leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers like a classic movie villain. “And as tragic as that it for you, why do I care?”

“Because he died killing that monster. The one who killed your wife. He made absolutely certain that it would never be able to hurt anyone, ever again, and it cost him his life.” Eliot stood up, leaning forward, his hands leaving sweaty prints on the polished desk. “His story wasn’t finished and you’re going to make it right.”

“Let’s say I intend to… indulge… your little request.” Hades answered cooly, Eliot’s outburst didn’t appear to have phased him in the slightest. “I can’t just make a few phone calls and bring him back.”

“You’re _fucking_ Hades!” Julia exclaimed, any trace of her former professionalism long gone.

“I am aware, thank you.” He smirked at her. “But even I have rules. I can’t upset the balance here, there would be indisputable repercussions.”

“So you can’t help us?” Eliot asked, voice breaking as defeat claimed him and he collapsed back into his chair.

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Hades replied with a wink. “I didn’t say that at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Sabrina, did you finish and post this at work? Yes, yes I did. Shhhh!

_**Stars, up on heaven’s Boulevard** _

Quentin and Ari were on their way back from the orchard, each of them carrying a basket nearly overflowing, blush and orange alongside deep purples and reds, the colors of the sunset captured in the ripest of fruits.

“Are you sure you won’t have some?” She asked, offering him a bite of the plum she was eating.

“I’m good, thanks.” He declined, shifting the heavy basket in his arms.

“Of all the things I’m going to miss about you once you’re gone, Q, having your help in carrying the harvest back home is at the top of the list.” She teased, digging her elbow into his ribs. Her goodnatured jest wasn’t enough to erase the sadness from his eyes though. “I hate that this is something unpleasant for you now,” She continued. “Peaches and plums? It was always such a happy little line. What was it Eliot called it? An _inside_ joke?”

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed with a small smile as they rounded the bend in the road and the thatched roof of the cottage came into view. “And it’s not sad exactly, just, bittersweet.” He paused, looking up at the old elm tree at the edge of the yard as Arielle walked ahead. Teddy had fallen from its branches when he was eight or nine and had ended up with a broken wrist. There wasn’t anything, in this little pocket world or karmic circle or afterlife, whatever you wanted to call it, that wasn’t a reminder of the life he had lived there. Every single thing was his own personal proof of concept.

“Quentin?” Arielle asked from a few yards ahead of him. He watched as the half eaten plum fell from her fingers and hit the ground. She didn’t even appear to notice, eyes locked on the cottage’s lawn.

“Ari? What’s wrong?” He called, a tendril of fear wrapping its way through his gut, as he set down his own basket and jogged towards her.

“Peaches and plums,” She answered turning back to him with a smile. “I think it’s about to stop being sad.”

“What do you me…” His voice trailed off into silence as he rounded the corner and watched a shimmering doorway appear out of nowhere. A cane poked through first, and Quentin let out a choked sob as he recognized the elegant black column and the intricate silver handle. It was the same cane, he noticed, that Eliot had conjured for himself when he finally had resorted to using one once his age caught up with him in their mosaic quest. His familiar hand, though much younger than the last time he had needed it, wrapped around its head, rings glinting in the Fillorian sunlight.

“El,” He breathed, and while there was no way his voice carried that far, Eliot looked up at him as if he had heard.

“Q,” He whispered back in awe, face breaking into an unfathomably wide grin.

Before Quentin could think, he was running across the grass and mosaic sand, kicking over stacks of tiles in his wake, and crashing into Eliot, knocking the cane from his hand and nearly sending the taller man stumbling. “ _El_ ,” He whispered again, once he had assured their balance on knees that had gone weak, burying his face into Eliot’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Eliot answered from above him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before pulling away slightly.

“Hey,” Quentin replied automatically, just a quiet, simple syllable, though apparently, it was the response Eliot had been hoping for because his smile went from awestruck and relieved to just plain wicked and his hands suddenly found their way around Quentin’s neck, soft and gentle and loving, so different from the last time the monster had wrapped those same fingers around him that Quentin had to close his eyes to relish in the difference. Suddenly Eliot’s lips were on his and Quentin wasn’t sure he would ever regain the ability to open his eyes again. He managed, though, as he moaned in disappointment when Eliot broke away from the kiss.

“There will be time for more of that later,” Eliot laughed, a beautiful sound Quentin hadn’t heard in far too long. “Much, much, more of that,” He traced the contours of Quentin’s cheek with his thumbs, ran a hand through his hair, ghosted a finger along the shell of his ear. Quentin wasn’t sure if he was refamiliarizing himself with Quentin’s face or trying to prove that he was real, but either way, he wasn’t complaining. “Am I hallucinating?” He asked softly.

“If you were, how would asking me help?” Quentin teased, remembering Eliot's snarky reply that first day on the Brakebills lawn when Quentin had asked him that exact question.

El smiled, eyes crinkling up at the corners, remembering that fateful day as well. “You heard me, right? That night at the bonfire?” He asked, expression instantly sobering.

“Every word,” Quentin promised, tears welling up in his eyes from thinking about that night. “I love you, El. I think I maybe always have,"

“Even though I was too afraid to admit that I felt the same way?” Eliot asked, sliding a hand down from Quentin’s neck all the way down his arm to grasp at his hand. “Even when Alice Quinn is waiting for you back home? Or anybody else, for that matter? I still can’t quite believe that I’m worth all the hassle, Q.”

“When have we ever gotten anything worth having without a fight?” Quentin laughed, stretching onto his tiptoes to press a reassuring kiss against Eliot’s lips. “Peaches and plums, motherfucker. You’re stuck with me.” He laughed, resting his head against Eliot’s chest as the older man’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tight. “Wait…” Quentin’s head shot up in panic. “You are stuck with me, right? I mean, you found a way? I can go back?”

“It’s taken care of,” Eliot assured and Quentin relaxed back into his hold.

“How?” Quentin marveled.

“Maybe, if you would bother paying attention to someone other than Eliot for a second, we would tell you.” Another voice broke through their hazy little bubble of bliss.

“Jules!” He exclaimed, stepping out of Eliot’s arms and falling into hers. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass, you dummy," She laughed, squeezing him tighter. “I missed you.”

“You too," He pressed his head against her hair, inhaling the familiar scent.

“Apparently not as much as you missed him,” She teased, breaking out of the hug and slapping his arm. “You’ve been in love with him this whole time and didn’t tell me? What the hell?”

“I didn’t think anything would come of it,” He shrugged, turning to smile at Eliot. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise, but I really wanna hear how you managed to get me a ride back to Earth.”

“That’s a story I would like to hear as well,” Arielle spoke up.

“Ari!” Eliot greeted her with another huge smile, limping forward to envelop her in a hug. “I’d hoped to find you here, keeping Q company.”

“I think it was more him keeping me company,” She smiled, resting a hand against Eliot’s cheek. “It’s been far too long, Eliot.”

“It truly has,” He agreed, taking her hand in his own and turning them to face Julia and Quentin.  "Arielle, this is,” He began but she interrupted.

“Julia, right?” she smiled, extending her free hand to shake Julia’s, an Earth tradition she had never quite understood or mastered but attempted nonetheless. “I’ve heard so many stories, I feel like I know you already.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Julia hedged, glancing back and forth from Eliot and Quentin in search of answers.

“Oh,” Quentin laughed. “Yeah. An important piece to our story. Julia this is Ari. Our wife.”

“Wife?” Julia asked with a confused little smirk.

“I can tell there are a lot of unanswered questions,” Arielle squeezed Eliot’s hand before letting go and retrieving his cane from the grass. “Why don’t we sit down and talk?”

_**And if I know you at all, I know you’ve gone too far** _

“So,” Julia began, pouring some wine into the glass Ari had slid across the outdoor table towards her. “Not only were you hiding the fact that you were in love from me Q, in love with _Eliot_ of all people, but you have a wife.”

“Had,” Arielle corrected with a smile, reaching across the table to where Quentin was resting against Eliot’s shoulder, to squeeze Quentin’s hand. “I died, so I suppose we’re not technically married anymore.”

“That does not, in any way, change the significance.” Eliot insisted.

“Anything else you’re hiding from me?” Julia pressed on.

Ari huffed out a small laugh. “Should I be the one to tell her about Teddy?”

Julia rolled her eyes skyward and downed the remainder of the wine in her glass. “Who the hell is Teddy?”

“Our son.” Quentin smiled.

“You had a _kid_ ,” Julia said slowly, attempting to process the information.

“We did.” Eliot agreed, the memory of the sweet little boy, his Teddy Bear, that had grown into such a strong, good man. “Theodore Rupert Coldwater-Waugh.”

“Ted, like your dad.” Julia realized, eyes roaming around the little yard, trying to imagine a small child running around there, trying to imagine her Quentin as a father. It wasn’t a stretch.

“And Rupert, the first of the Chatwins to find Fillory. The only one we never got to meet, ironically," Quentin continued, waving his arms to encompass the entire little world they had built. “None of this would have happened without him. It felt right.”

“If we were given the chance to have a girl she would have been named after you,” Arielle said softly. “You and Margo.”

“No wonder you were so quick to jump in and help Poppy,” Julia said, putting the pieces together. “You thought that was your chance to have another kid.”

“Wait,” Eliot’s head jerked to look at Quentin. “You and Poppy?”

“No,” Quentin shook his head quickly. “I mean, yeah, but only the time you knew about. She’s pregnant but it’s not mine.”

“That girl is batshit,” Eliot announced, rolling his eyes theatrically. “And should not be raising a child, Q. You need to be fully prepared for her to drop he or she off on your doorstep within the first month of its life.”

“Well, that’s something we can deal with once I’m alive,” Quentin rolled his eyes. “I’m still waiting on the explanation behind how you managed that.”

“Julia and I took a little trip to visit Hades," Eliot began. “To petition him to bring you back.”

“And that worked?” Quentin asked skeptically. “Just like that?”

“Not exactly,” Julia sighed. “The monster killed Persephone, remember?”

Quentin nodded before motioning for her to continue. He didn’t want to fall back into the spiral he had been sucked into with the monster and all his heartbreak and killing.

“Well, once we informed him that you died by destroying that thing for good, he was willing to help us,” Julia said.

“But you can’t just remove a soul from the Underworld,” Arielle said with a frown, a tiny crease forming between her eyebrows.

Eliot smirked. “Can’t upset the balance. Yeah, he gave us that speech. But he was willing to make a trade. As long as the number of people stayed the same he was willing to, overlook, the clerical error of who they happened to be.”

“You… y-you traded another soul?” Quentin stammered, eyes flickering between Eliot and Julia’s. “That’s not, I can’t… who?”

Eliot and Julia shared a smile. “Everyone’s least favorite pedophile author,” Eliot said. “Trading Christopher Plover for you? We were portaling back to Fillory and dragging him down here before you could even say ‘karma’.”

“It was that easy?” Quentin asked, not feeling an ounce of regret.

“It really was," Julia laughed. “Come on, Q. You seriously thought we were going to be stuck living in a world where Plover gets a happy ending and you don’t? None of us were going to stand for that.”

“And it's a good thing we did, too,” Eliot cut in. “Other than us getting you back of course. He was working on overthrowing Fen in an attempt to reclaim his throne. So, I mean, if it makes you feel any better you can think of bringing you back as just a pleasant side effect of us saving Fillory. Again.”

“You really did all that?” Quentin asked, thinking of the unfathomable lengths his friends had gone just to bring him home. “For me?”

“Q,” Eliot leaned forward and put his hands on Quentin's shoulders, turning him to meet his eyes. “After what you did to get me back from that monster, to keep my body safe until I broke free? Of course. You went to the ends of the Earth and back to bring me home, not knowing if it would work and not expecting my feelings for you to have changed. Why wouldn't we, why wouldn't I do the same for you?”

Quentin choked out a laugh. “Because I'm not worth it? Doing all this for me? It's too much.”

It was a conversation Eliot was sure he hadn't heard the last of. After all, Quentin's quest to save him had left him in such a negative place that he thought the only way out was to take his own life. Eliot had spent fifty years with Quentin and had witnessed his fair share of the younger man's mental spirals, though the longer they spent together at the mosaic the less often they occurred. He knew better than to expect some magical cure. The Monster had left it's scars and they were deep and raw and some of them might never fade. Instead of arguing about it though, Eliot leaned forward and grabbed Quentin by the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. He was perfectly content to try to kiss away those scars, though. In their last life, in this one, and any more lifetimes that should follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are officially reunited and happy! Thoughts? I'd love to hear what you thought. We're near the end, there's probably one more little chapter to close it up.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun is beginning its descent, casting shadows from the trees in the little yard, and the bottle of Filliorian wine has long since been drained dry when Julia finally proposes the idea of leaving. “What do you say, Q?” She asks with a smile. “Ready to go home?”

He leans further into Eliot, the older man instinctually wrapping his arm tighter around his waist, and looks around at the tiny cottage and mosaic pit, at the little life he and El and Ari and Teddy had built there, and thinks _I’m already there._ But he isn’t, not really. He can’t stay there, in that little bubble of blissful peace forever because that lifetime had come and gone. They had lived it, though some of them longer than others, and while it wasn’t always easy, it had been beautiful. The beauty of all life, in fact, had been discovered on that little plot of land.

But he had the chance to continue on with his other life. A hard-won chance to remedy the mistake he now saw that ending his life had been. Overwhelming and messy as it was, he wasn’t going to pass that up. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“We’re not in any rush,” Eliot assured, sending Julia a warning glare overtop of Q’s head. “We can stay here as long as you need.”

“No, I, I mean, there’s people waiting back home, right? To see if this crazy plan you two cooked up actually worked?” He smiled nervously.

“An entire group of friends,” Arielle pointed out, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “A family who loves you, Quentin.”

“I’m just sorry we can’t bring you too, Ari.” Eliot sighed, looking over at her apologetically. “If we could take more than one person back with us or if we’d planned…”

“Don’t.” She smiled. A real smile, without a trace of despair hidden beneath its surface. “I’m sure your world has many great things, it has to since it can create people as wonderful as you two, but I don’t think I could ever be happy there. Not truly. And besides, I think I might be finished here, in this place.” She smiled, staring around at the little life they had created. “I think maybe I was just here because I didn’t know what happened to the two of you but now that I know you’re going to be alright it might be time for me to move on.”

“Find our friend Penny,” Quentin smiled back, knowing that she would be fine eased some of his anxiety. “He’ll take care of everything.”

“Though apparently, he doesn’t have that great a track record of helping people move on,” Julia laughed. “Seeing as how you’re heading the other direction.”

“I was wrong. It wasn’t my time yet.” Quentin shrugged, reaching up to press a kiss against Eliot’s cheek. “I’m not done living.”

_**Stars** _

Quentin doesn’t really remember much after he Eliot and Julia stepped out of the portal, just a hectic swarm of shouting and hugs and tears in the middle of Kady’s kitchen. It was the last place he wanted to be, contained amongst those memory-riddled walls, but Eliot was there now, with his hand lightly gripping the back of his neck or tucking him close against his side, and the contact made it bearable. It was Eliot, not the monster, and as long as he remembered that he would be alright.

Until Alice broke out of the, admittedly awkward, reunion embrace and adjusted her glasses like she always did when she was about to do something uncomfortably serious. “Q can we talk?” She shifted her gaze quickly back and forth between him and Eliot. “Alone?”

Quentin winced but he knew he owed her an explanation and some serious apologies. “Sure.” He sighed, squeezing Eliot’s hand tightly before releasing it and nodding towards the little set of chairs in front of the fireplace.

“I-I, yeah, umm… I’m sorry, Alice…” He began, voice a rambling waver before he even sat down.

“Shut up, Q.” She insisted. “Just, let me talk, okay?”

He nodded and met her eyes, finding them surprisingly calm. “You don’t look mad.”

“Are you happy?” She asked as she reached out and took his hand closest to her’s.

“I really love him, Vix.” He whispered, and just speaking the words into existence was enough to bring a smile back to his face.

“Then how could I be mad at you? Or him? Look, Quentin, do you remember the morning I walked in on you and Eliot in bed?”

“And Margo, but yeah. If I remember correctly you were so pissed you slapped me and went to hook up with Penny.” He felt as if that morning had happened centuries ago.

“That was… Not the classiest way I could have handled it, but yeah.” She agreed. “Do you remember? How upset I was?”

He nodded again, letting go of her hand to cross his arms protectively against himself.

“And of course you remember the crowning ceremony,” She pressed on without giving him time to respond. “I think that was the moment, standing there watching you talk about Eliot, seeing the way he looked up at you and the way you smiled back at him, that I realized, even if you two didn’t yet, what was going on between you. That it wasn’t _just_ a hookup, it was a beginning.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.” He promised, voice breaking. “That was the last thing I ever wanted.”

She smiled a sad little upturn of her lips this time. “I know. Remember after that, after we had our crowns and we actually sat down and talked about it like grownups?”

“Vaguely,” He recalled. All he really remembered about it was him promising to win her back and her impressively growing a tree.

“I wasn’t mad about the sex, Q. It was never about that. I was upset because you fucked up _us_. We were friends, before we added more layers to whatever we were. And I never had a lot of friends but suddenly you were there. And you liked me. For _me_. For once in my life I wasn’t the freakishly talented overachiever that everyone was afraid to talk to, or the awkward daughter my parents worried over and complained to their friends about during their weekly parties, I wasn’t Charlie’s little sister, I was just Alice Quinn. And that was enough for you.”

“I’m sorry,” he tried again.

“Don’t be.” She smiled at him again. “It’s not your fault, Q, that you love him. And if he makes you happy then that’s all I want for you. You deserve that.”

“He does,” Quentin promised, turning in his chair and letting his eyes scan the room before landing on Eliot and instantly he could breathe easier.

“Okay. That’s all I needed to hear. But, Quentin,  _I_ deserve to be more than your rebound. I get it, I do. You lost faith in getting him back and you were in a bad space mentally and I was there. Safe and familiar and willing to erase all the progress, all the growth, we had made on our own. It was my mistake as much as it was yours, really.”

“I really did love you.” He said, voice gentle.

“I know, and I feel the same way.” She agreed, straightening her shoulders. “But I think maybe loving someone is different than being _in love_ with them.”

“You’re right, as usual.” He sighed and stood up. “Friends?” He asked, reaching out a hand for her to shake.

“Friends.” She agreed, using his outreached hand to pull herself up and tugged him closer, pulling him into a hug.

 

**_Stars_ **

 

In the end, Quentin can’t stay in the apartment. There are too many memories everywhere he looks, even with the steady warmth of Eliot at his side. So they head back to Brakebills, to the Physical Kids Cottage but Eliot, ironically but understandably, has spent far too long confined in those familiar rooms to be at peace. So Penny shuttles the three of them, Quentin, Eliot, and Margo, off to Fillory. To the safety of Whitespire and her familiar, but not suffocatingly-so, walls.

“Welcome home.” Margo smiles, reaching up to squeeze each of their shoulders before turning away, heels clicking against the corridor’s stone floor. “I’m gonna go let Josh know we’re back.”

“We won’t be seeing her for the next four hours _at least_.” Eliot sighs, mouth twisting disapprovingly. In his haze post-possession, grieving Quentin, and later scheming to get him back, had taken his entire mental capacity. He hadn’t had time to adjust completely to the idea of Margo and Josh Hoberman. Frankly, he didn’t see the appeal, but his romantic history was ample proof that he wasn’t an expert in making reliable choices. He had turned down Quentin, after all, even with his fifty years proof of concept, so who was he to judge. As long as she was happy.

“So… What now?” Quentin asked, scuffing his toe along a seam in the floor.

“Now we go tell my wife about us.” Eliot declared with a smile, reaching out with the hand not wrapped around the head of his cane and grabbing Quentin’s hand, tugging him towards the throne room.

They stood in the doorway, Eliot grinning fondly as Fen stood with her back to them oblivious, directing the palace workers regarding some underground magical lake he had no knowledge of. He turned to Quentin and placed a finger against his lips with a conspiratorial wink before making his way, slowly because he wasn’t using his cane to prevent any unnecessary noise, up behind her.

He tightly covered her eyes with his hands and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Guess who?”

She tensed immediately, one hand reaching up to grab his wrist while the other went, presumably, for the dagger he knew she kept stashed in the folds of her skirt. He would be willing to bet the entire contents of Whitespires treasury that there were at least five other blades hidden on her that he didn’t know about but he didn’t have to worry because as soon as she placed who the voice and hands belonged to she squealed, whirling around, curls flying beneath his former crown as she turned and crashed him into a hug. “Eliot! You’re here!”

“I am.” He agreed, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before loosening his hold and hoping she would follow suit, her grip was tight against his still-healing ax wound.

“And Quentin?” She asked, eyes shifting from ecstatic to concerned in a blink. She moved her hands to rest against his shoulders.

Eliot’s smile widened and she knew, in that instant, that things had gone their way for once. “See for yourself.” He nodded to where Q was still hesitantly hovering in the doorframe.

She ran across the room and had engulfed him in a hug before he was even through waving hello, speaking something softly into his ear that Eliot couldn’t make out but whatever it was Quentin laughed, a relieved little huf of breath, and some more of the tension he had been harboring drained from his shoulders.

She motioned him and Eliot over to the drafting table in the corner of the spacious room to continue their reunion. “Margo came back too?”

“Yup.” Quentin nodded, stretching out a leg beneath the table to hook his ankle around Eliot’s, drawing strength from the contact.

“Then our entire Court is here!” She exclaimed happily. “Which is good, we have so many issues to tackle right now. Lifting Margo’s banishment was just the beginning. I thought we had our hands full already but now with Plover’s tyrannic attempt I’m slightly overwhelmed.”

“I’m… I-uh,” Quentin sighed. “Fen I’m not sure how much… help… I’m going to be just yet. I’m not…”

“It’s fine,” Eliot insisted. “I’m not exactly back up to fighting shape myself. We’re not ready to jump back into ruling quite yet, Fen. We came here to recuperate, not reestablish the monarchy.”

Quentin shot him a grateful look. He was still struggling, even if nobody other than Eliot could see it. “Between keeping up with Kady’s hedge witch uprising and Alice taking the reins on overseeing the Library there’s already a lot on our plates. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love the chance to try to be a king again, I’m just not sure I can handle revamping Fillory at the moment.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly the most relaxing place.” Fen laughed. “Why’d you come here?”

“Because we still have some, unpleasant, associations with our other residency options,” Eliot explained. Fen had been the only one of them lucky enough to never get to witness the Monster’s wrath. He would be eternally grateful for that, but it left her slightly out of the loop of just how bad things had gotten. “We’re still processing it all and places hold memories.”

“Of course,” She frowned, tilting her head in confusion. “But why not go where the happy memories are to counter that?”

Quentin picked up the glass of wine servers had brought them as soon as they sat down, taking a long gulp before answering. “Well, we’re here. It seemed like the best option.”

“You have happier memories here than you do at the cottage?” Fen asked, turning her puzzled gaze to Quentin who promptly spilled his wine across the map spread across the table in front of him, startled by her words.

“Cottage?” Eliot asked slowly, not daring to get his hopes up.

“The mosaic cottage.” She pressed on. “The lifetime you two lived out to find the key?”

“How the _fuck_ do you know about that?” Eliot ran a hand through his hair in confusion, wide eyes meeting Quentin’s across the table.

“It’s in the book.” Fen rolled her eyes, reaching behind her to pull a battered old Fillory and Further paperback from the pocket on the back of her chair. “Josh gave me a set of the whole series. The man that gave Jane the key? To power her watch so she could create time loops? That was Quentin. It’s easy to put the pieces together when you see it from both sides.”

“It-it’s _there_?” Quentin asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Still?”

“It was.” Fen shrugged, flipping through pages of the book still in her hand, searching for the passage about the old man Jane never realized was Quentin. “Last time I checked.”

“You’ve _been there?_ ” Now it was Eliot’s turn to lose his cool. “And never once thought to mention this to me? What the hell, Fen?”

“Well, when you came back I assumed you wouldn’t care since you two didn’t show any sign of wanting to give the whole relationship thing a try again.” She pointed out. “And I spent the last few months thinking you were dead, Eliot. I didn’t know some little shack from a past life was relevant.”

“Let’s go.” Quentin’s voice broke through her explanation, surprisingly calm. “El. Let’s go find it. Why the fuck not?”

“It’s in pretty bad shape,” Fen warned, pointing to the spot on the now wine-stained map where, apparently, their cottage still stood. “I’m not sure anyone kept up with the place after you two left, which kind of works out in your favor because I suppose it technically still belongs to you.”

But Eliot didn’t care. Fen’s words hardly registered in his mind because all he could think about was Quentin. _Why the fuck not?_ Quentin saying those same exact words in this very room, when Eliot foolishly turned away his proposition. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

He stood up suddenly, ignoring the vague pain in his abdomen triggered by the movement and the way his chair clattered to the floor behind him. He reached out his hand to Quentin, a smile breaking out on his face. “Fen, darling, I am once again leaving Fillory in your capable hands. And Margo is here now, should you need help. That being said, I sincerely hope whatever plans you two come up with don’t require the Muntjack because Q and I call dibs. I believe I owe this man a boating quest.”

 

**_And if I know you at all, I know you’ve gone too far_ **

 

It had been morning when they boarded the ship and left Whitespire’s port, and though their original trek to the mosaic after stepping through the clock all those years ago had taken just a few short hours, they spent the majority of the day sailing through Fillorian air and sea, enjoying the vast nothingness but each other’s company. No quests or monsters or obligations. It was late afternoon when they finally asked the ship to land.

“You sure you’re good?” Quentin asked, taking care to let Eliot set the pace as they traipsed through the seemingly familiar but overgrown forest.

“I’m fine.” He promised, shooting Quentin a warm smile.

“If you need to take a break it’s fine.” Quentin continued, worried.

Eliot rolled his eyes fondly and pressed on and soon enough they found the woods surrounding them thinning out, a bright patch of open space just before them. “Ready?” he asked, reaching behind him to grasp Quentin’s hand before they broke through onto the lawn.

Fen had tried to warn them, that it had fallen into disarray, but they still weren’t prepared for it to be as bad as it truly was. Everything was a dull, muted shade of grey, with weeds overtaking the remnants of their lawn furniture. The cottage roof had collapsed in one corner and the windows had long since been broken, shards of glass hanging from the frames like jagged teeth. Winds had even blown away the last traces of sand from the mosaic pit, leaving a gaping dusty pit amongst the tall grass. The few tiles Quentin could see remaining were either shattered or bleached of any color by the sun.

“Maybe…” he began, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s not really as bad as it looks. It’s probably because we were just here, seeing at it all through Ari’s eyes, and everything was so perfect.”

Eliot nodded, though he wasn’t quite sure he believed him. “I mean, it wasn’t really much better than this when we got here the first time? Right? It took us years to fix it up. To make it somewhat liveable.”

“Right.” Quentin agreed, staring at the huge job ahead of them.

Eliot sighed, stepping forward and resting a hand against the scratchy wooden door with a smile. “This was it, the door that let me break through to you that afternoon in the park?” He said softly. “I had to go through this door to get back to you. Though in my mind it wasn’t falling clear off its hinges. This is going to take a long time, Q. To fix this place up.”

“Maybe not,” Quentin smiled, suddenly remembering. He moved to stand beside Eliot and focused on the door, raising his hands, and suddenly the door was fixed. Back upright in its frame, wood smooth and hinges shiny.

“How’d you do that?” Eliot asked, turning to Quentin with a smile.

“New development while you were gone.” Quentin laughed, waving his hands and turning his attention to the window shutters and soon they were repaired like the door. “Finally figured out my discipline. Repair of small objects.”

“Convenient.” Eliot laughed, interrupting Quentin’s work on the windows to pull him in for a kiss.

It wasn’t small, the list of items that needed Quentin’s attention, but as long as they took it one piece at a time, it was manageable. Somehow, it managed to not be too much, taking on their own little quest, The Mosaic Mission 2.0. It was a great distraction, the perfect way to ease them back into the world. They decided to focus on the outside first, since it was late spring and the weather was nice, even late in the evening. Quentin finished repairing the daybed just as the sun was setting and he and Eliot collapsed onto it, exhausted. Eliot frowned and raised his own hands, tutting a spell to restuff the cushions beneath them. “Think we should call it a day?”

“The sky seems to think so,” Quentin pointed to the quickly darkening sky above them before looking back at Eliot. He truly was back, alive again, sitting in the mosaic cottage lawn with Eliot by his side. “I still can’t believe everything you did to get me back.”

Eliot shrugged, making himself comfortable amongst the pillows. “I could say the same about you, Q. Look at what all you did to set me free from that thing. We both took it as far as we had to.”

“I would have done whatever I had to if it meant saving you,” Quentin promised, laying down and resting his head against Eliot’s chest.

“Which is why I’m going to spend the entirety of this lifetime trying to get you to understand that I felt the same way about saving _you_.” Eliot insisted, wrapping an arm around Quentin’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

The night was quiet, as the twin moons rose above them and the stars blinked into existence until Eliot broke the silence. “I’ve been thinking,” he said suddenly, watching as Quentin twisted one of Eliot’s shirt buttons between his fingers. “About that day at Coronation Island.”

“What about it?” Quentin asked hesitantly, remembering Alice’s mentioning that same day.

“You were right.” He sat up, suddenly, dislodging Quentin’s head on his chest but needing to see his face as he spoke. “When you gave me that crown? What you said about destiny? It _is_ bullshit, Q. It has to be because it feels like the entire fucking world is trying its best to keep up apart but we keep finding a way. Because this, because _us_ , together, is worth fighting for. Destiny is supposed to be this easy, natural, unavoidable fairytale and that’s not us, Quentin. We have to work for it.” He smiled, gesturing around the dark yard. “It’s hard, but you chose me in spite of all that and I promise to keep choosing you, as long as you’ll have me.”

Quentin sat up and smiled. “Always, El. I’ll always want this. Us. We don’t need destiny on our side. We have something better.”

“Proof of concept?” Eliot teased, tucking a lock of hair behind Quentin’s ear.

“Well, I mean, yeah.” Quentin shrugged, eyes glimmering with happiness in the moonlight. “But I was gonna say magic.”

“That was lame, even for you, Coldwater,” Eliot smirked, shaking his head fondly. “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you love me?” Quentin reminded him with a laugh.

“So much.” Eliot agreed, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss.

“Peaches and plums, motherfucker,” Quentin whispered against his lips. “We’re back.”

They spent that night beneath the Fillorian sky, wrapped in nothing but each other’s arms, with the moons standing guard over them. They had both spent their time apart wishing for nothing more than to have the other next to them, staring up at the sky that had become so familiar to them during their last life, at the stars they had missed so much, but that night they didn’t look up. Not once. There was no need. Everything they wanted, the beauty of all life, was reflected in the other’s eyes. Destiny _is_ bullshit, and happy endings aren’t handed out but rather earned. But, they had paid their dues and in the end, the tale of Quentin Coldwater and Eliot Waugh was a love story more beautiful than any night sky could ever hope to be.

 

**_So I can’t look at the stars_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap, y'all! Thank you SO much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, or at the very least, found it more satisfying than the canon finale we were given. I tried to fix as much of it as I could and tried to at least touch on every character, making things a little bit better so hopefully, it was successful. I'd love to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> (And stay tuned for a one-shot coming up soon that was a little too fluffy and silly to really fit with the tone of this work but ties up yet another plot hole the writers left.)

**Author's Note:**

> Titles and inspiration all came from Stars by Grace Potter and The Nocturnals cause that song came through my playlist and it broke me so I decided to go ahead and break myself the rest of the way by writing this. Thoughts?


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